


Blush

by someonestolemyshoes



Series: Theirs [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: KageHina - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Nothing explicit, just referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things that make Hinata blush; compliments, and being the butt of friendly jokes, and when his sister calls him Sho in public and when people buy him things and sometimes, when he gets to stroke a really really cute puppy and the list, well, it really does go on forever. Hinata thinks that there are probably too many things to count. </p><p>But being touched by Kageyama is definitely, absolutely, one-hundred per cent not one of them. </p><p>(Except it is.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blush

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyy so I wanted to try writing in a different style and what better chance than to try writing some Kagehina trash from Hinata's perspective. So here ya go, have some volleyball dorks.

Hinata is used to being touched—he’s used to the way Natsu clings to his arm, and he’s used to the feel of her sticky little fingers digging into the back of his hand, and he’s used to his mothers cool palm on his neck and forehead (because he’s prone to catching colds and she’s always the first to check for a fever) and hell, he  _thrives_  on the high-fives and back-slaps that the team bestow upon him whenever practice goes especially well. 

So it shouldn't be weird at all, really, when he hits the best spike of his life (so far) and his feet plant back on solid ground and the team gasp, cheer, scream in awe and Kageyama’s hand slaps atop his head to ruffle his hair. Suga does it all the time and it’s rare praise from Daichi, and even Tsukki has given him the occasional (reluctant, probably) head-pat, so it absolutely should  _not_  be weird when Kageyama does it.

But it really, really is. 

His mouth goes slack, eyes go wide, and Hinata stares up at him and fists the fabric of his own shirt around his hands because, with Kageyama’s fingers twined in his hair, Hinata kind of, sort of maybe wants to touch him back. His face feels hot, too hot, and this has never ever happened with Suga’s hands and it’s certainly never happened when Natsu plaits little bows into his hair and it is so far beyond weird that he almost wants to laugh.  

Kageyama’s...kind of awkward about it actually, arms stiff and eyes strained, and there’s sweat on is brow that is probably from practice but maybe not, and his fingers grip a little too tight and not nearly for long enough. He says, “that was good,” and then he frowns and scowls and adds, “dumbass,” to the end, like it’d pain him to leave it out before he walks away. His back is kind of rigid, shoulders sitting a little higher than normal as he palms Tsukki’s grinning face away when he leans down to leer something at him, and Hinata doesn't know what it was, but he definitely caught the word  _king,_ which is enough for him to clench his own fists. It makes him mad, still, the nickname, even though it really doesn’t phase Kageyama all that much any more. 

He channels the anger to bark a few long, high-pitched insults across the court and when he’s done, panting and shaking, he presses his palms over his heated cheeks and blames his blush on rage. 

It doesn’t get less weird, but Kageyama’s small touches do get more frequent. At first it’s just more of the same; he takes to tousling his hair almost every practice, sometimes more than once, and he always does it with stiff wrists and fingers that pinch just a little too hard, and he looks kind of pained, like he’d rather be doing anything else, but he does it anyway. Hinata doesn't mind; in fact, though he’d never admit it out loud because it’s Kageyama and he might actually punch him, he kind of  _likes_ it. It makes his cheeks hot and his head spin and his chest does this weird kind of flutter, almost, like his heart is stuttering behind his ribs, but it’s not bad. It’s nice. 

But it’s still super weird. He absolutely should  _not_  blush at the friendly pat of his teammates’ hand and he definitely, most certainly shouldn’t want to touch him back. 

But he kind of does. 

The thing is, Kageyama’s hair always looks super soft, you know? Hinata is used to the feel of his own hair; it’s spiky and messy and it knots easily, everything Kageyama’s hair isn’t. His is thin and flat and shiny and it looks kind of like silk and Hinata often finds himself wishing, with Kageyama’s fingers carding against his scalp, that he were a little taller (or that Kageyama were a little shorter but it’s usually the former, because he really sort of likes Kageyama’s long legs and he shouldn’t be thinking that at all) so he could return the favour. 

It’s one day at lunch when Kageyama’s casual touches start to bleed through into their every day life. Hinata still couldn’t believe he’d left the house that morning without picking up his lunch, and he’d scolded himself (loudly and obnoxiously) all throughout the morning and maybe Kageyama took pity on him, or maybe he was just annoyed that Hinata wouldn’t shut up, but whatever the reason, he’d turned up at their usual bench with a paper bag dangling from one hand and wafting the all too familiar scent of- 

“Meat buns!” Hinata bounces where he sits, and then he pouts, because  _Kageyama_  has meat buns but  _he_  has nothing, and then the bag flops down into his lap and Kageyama sits beside him, punching his straw through the top of his milk carton and taking a long sip. Hinata stares from the bag to Kageyama and back again.

“Stop staring and eat, idiot.” Kageyama’s pulling his bento from his bag and Hinata picks up the meat bun—because now that he has the paper bag in his hands he realises that there is only one—and looks back at Kageyama. He must've voiced his thoughts aloud because Kageyama’s cuffing the back of his head and frowning down at him. 

“I only had enough for one,” he says, and then he adds a hasty, “and I was sick of hearing your whining, so shut up and  _eat_.” 

Hinata does as told—he doesn't waste a second thinking about the fact that Kageyama bought him lunch, because it doesn't mean anything, and he certainly doesn't think about Kageyama’s thigh, which is pressed right up against his because today Kageyama is sitting just a little closer than usual. He doesn't think about it, just bites into the bun and chews. 

Hinata’s a messy eater, always has been, so it isn’t all that strange when Kageyama says, “hey, dumbass, you’ve got shit on your face,” but what’s definitely different is the fact that Kageyama leans over and wipes the bread crumbs from Hinata’s cheek with his thumb. 

“How do you make so much mess?” He says, but Hinata just stares down at the half-eaten bun in his hands and tries his hardest to ignore the heat in his face. He can still feel the press of Kageyama’s knuckles against his jaw and the slide of skin against his cheek and it is so  _so_ weird that he can’t stop thinking about it and that his face is way warmer than it’s been, ever, and what’s weirder is that Kageyama is  _fine._  No stiffness, no strain, just sipping the last of his milk from the carton and staring out at the yard like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. 

There’s a spot of milk on his bottom lip, and Hinata pinches the bun between his fingers and wiggles his toes in his shoes. It’s difficult to ignore the impulse and his thumb itches to wipe the little white speck away, but when he looks back, ready to tell Kageyama that he’s no better, dumbass, there’s shit on your face too, Kageyama’s tongue is peaking out to clear the mess away and Hinata is hit with a whole new urge. 

He doesn’t think about it for the rest of the day, even when Kageyama’s fingers thread into his hair after an actual, successful receive, or when Daichi buys them all meat buns after practice or when Kageyama walks part-way home with him, one hand jammed in his pocket and the other clenched tight around a fresh milk carton and even with all these things, all these horrible reminders, he manages to  _not_ think about it until he’s lying in bed. 

It’s just a tongue, and they’re just lips, and he’s just  _Kageyama_ and this absolutely should not be such a big deal. He should not be thinking about it, and his cheeks should not be this warm and is it hot in here? It’s definitely hot, he reasons, fanning his shirt against his chest, because this heat absolutely can’t come from thinking about Kageyama and his mouth, because that’s ridiculous, it’s outrageous. 

What’s worse, is that he thinks of Kageyama’s hands in his hair, and he thinks about his tongue some more, and he really is blushing now because these are not the kind of thoughts boys have about their teammates. He thinks about Kageyama touching him, about Kageyama gripping his hair and in his mind Kageyama’s grip is a little harder, and he pulls, kind of, tilts Hinata’s head back and there’s his mouth, his tongue against his lip and he wonders what it’d be like if maybe, that tongue would touch him, too. 

There are a lot of things that make Hinata blush; compliments, and being the butt of friendly jokes, and when his sister calls him  _Sho_  in public and when people buy him things and sometimes, when he gets to stroke a really  _really_  cute puppy and the list, well, it really does go on forever. Hinata thinks that there are probably too many things to count.

But being touched by Kageyama is definitely, absolutely, one-hundred per cent not one of them.

(Except it is.)

Hinata pointedly avoids Kageyama the following day. He’s late for school, and he hides amongst a group of his classmates at lunch, huddled in the middle with enough gaps between arms and heads and shoulders for him to spy Kageyama peering in the doorway, but Kageyama doesn't see him, because if he did he wouldn't have just left like that. He blushes at the sight of him, buries his face over his bento and fights the redness of his cheeks as his mind drifts to his sordid thoughts and wandering hands. 

It’s not until practice that they’re really forced to interact, and by then Hinata has thoroughly talked himself into believing that last night didn’t really happen, that it was all some weird, unspeakable dream, that it must happen to all teenage boys, with the hormones and all, and that it really is nothing to blush about. 

And, you know, it works pretty well, until Hinata blocks one of Asahi’s crazy power-spikes and everyone cheers and Kageyama’s fingers rake into his hair. Suddenly he’s back in his bed with his hand in his shorts and Kageyama’s tongue on his throat and he squeaks, slapping Kageyama’s wrist away and jumping back. 

“What the hell, Hinata!” Kageyama curls his fingers against his thigh and his shoulders are tight, rigid, like he’s holding himself back, and Hinata shies away under his gaze. He scratches the back of his head and laughs, quiet and awkward and not at  _all_  convincing. He doesn't even know what to say, because there’s a room full of people and a lot of eyes are on him, on them, and he can still feel fingers fisting in his hair and he can see Kageyama’s tongue wetting his lips and he should  _not not not_  be thinking this on the court. He shouldn't be thinking this at  _all._  Kageyama would hate him if he knew. Hinata looks at his hands, twisted into the fabric of his shirt, and he thinks that Kageyama would hate him if he knew what those hands had done in his image, if he knew what name Hinata had breathed into his pillow, moaned and muffled in the late hour. 

Suddenly he feels kind of like crying. He shuffles his feet, tries not to think about how Kageyama can never, ever touch him again because he will  _know_ , and Hinata doesn't want him to ever, ever know because he can’t stand the thought of being hated by Kageyama. 

His face won’t cool down and there are too many watching eyes and he really, really needs to be outside, in the fresh air, away from Kageyama and his hands and his lips and his tongue and far, far away from his own unbidden thoughts. 

It’s warm out, but there’s a pleasant kind of breeze that lifts his hair and cools the red, burning skin of his cheeks and he runs out past the length of the gym, through the main gates and as far down the road as his legs will carry him. He flops to a stop on the grass and hides his eyes with his forearm. His mind is still terribly, horribly full of Kageyama and now that he’s alone he bites his lip presses the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a groan. 

His lungs burn, but he feels like he kind of deserves it. 

Hinata sits up, mops the sweat from his face with his shirt, and he’s about to stand up, to run the rest of the way home because hey, he’s half-way there anyway and there’s a snowballs chance in hell of him going back to the gym tonight, not with all those eyes and the questions and Kageyama.

“What.” Hinata whips around and stares. “The  _fuck.”_ His cheeks flame red as he watches Kageyama, bent at the waist and sucking air like he’s never tasted it in his whole life. “Did you.” Kageyama blows a few breaths down the neck of his shirt. “Run away for?” 

“Why did you follow me?” Hinata says (whines) and drops back to lie in the grass. Kageyama collapses beside him, rolls onto his back and shields his eyes with his arm. He is too close; one thigh is pressed right up against Hinata and he can feel the heat from him, rolling in waves and bleeding through the fabric of his shorts. He squeezes his eyes closed and thinks about kittens, about Tsukishima, about old ladies in bathing suits, just about anything that isn’t Kageyama.  

“Because you ran, stupid,” Kageyama says, “what were we supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, leave me alone?” 

Kageyama sits up and braces himself on his elbows, and Hinata blinks an eye open and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Kageyama is looming over him, hair flopping low over his eyes and small beads of sweat trailing down his face. Hinata’s eyes follow the path of one drop that runs down, down, over Kageyama’s top lip and then his tongue is darting out to catch it and Hinata mimics him before he can really stop himself. He groans, shoots upright and digs the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. 

“Dumbass,” Kageyama says, and he shakes Hinata by the shoulder. “What’s your problem?”

“Stop touching me,” Hinata moans, and tacks a quiet, pitiful, “ _please_ ,” on the end. Kageyama’s warm palm (so warm, warmer than he’d imagined it, smoothing over the skin of his- _no_ ) retracts. 

“If you had a problem with it you should have said so,” Kageyama spits, and the words come out so sharp, so aggressive that Hinata snaps his neck around to look at him. Kageyama’s cheeks are a little pink and he’s looking out across the road, away from Hinata. “You don’t seem to mind when everyone else does it,” Kageyama says, and there’s a note of petulance in his voice. “I figured you’d like it, you’re into all that  _affection_  crap.” 

“I  _do_  like it.” Hinata regrets the words the minute they pass his lips because Kageyama glares at him, incredulous, and he isn’t sure how to explain himself. He buries his face in his knees and curls his arms around them, huffing out a breath. 

“Then what’s the issue?” 

His cheeks are red way before Kageyama’s fingers tug at his shoulder again but they definitely heat a little more under his touch. 

He doesn’t say anything, just looks out from under his arm. Kageyama is still a little out of breath, chest rising and falling and his mouth must be dry because he keeps licking at his lips and Hinata curls deeper into himself, but he doesn’t look away. There’s a warm hand near his neck, and Kageyama’s mouth is right there, and this might be the greatest moment of his young life if his thoughts were remotely acceptable. 

But as it stands they’re not, and this is torture. 

“You know,” Kageyama says, “you keep insisting that we’re  _friends_ , and friends are supposed to, you know, talk to each other and shit.” 

“We do talk.” Hinata rests his mouth on his arm and watches Kageyama settle back on his elbows. “We’re talking right now.” 

Kageyama shoves Hinata’s back with his shoe and squints up at the sky. 

“You know what I mean,” he says.  

He does know. Problem is, Hinata very much doesn’t want to talk about his particular issue; doesn’t want to talk about it with  _anyone,_ let alone Kageyama. He thinks, maybe, it might be nice to get it off his chest because he feels all kinds of dirty and guilty and he’ll never be able to look Kageyama in the eye ever again if things keep going like this. 

“We’re friends,” Hinata says, and he’s mostly reassuring himself because friends don’t ditch friends over silly thoughts and maybe telling Kageyama won’t be so bad. He doesn’t have to go into  _detail_  or anything. 

“Yeah.” Hinata feels kind of warm, hearing Kageyama say that, and he realises that this is the first time he’s admitted it and for a moment everything is overrun by a smug sense of accomplishment because this is some kind of victory, but then he thinks about the things he’s about to say and he sinks back into his hole. 

“And friends can tell each other anything, right?” He blinks, looks at Kageyama over his arm, and Kageyama stares for a second, eyes wide and kind of bright with something Hinata doesn’t recognise, and then he nods once, hard. 

“Right.” 

It’s crunch time, but the words are way too heavy in his mouth, and Kageyama is waiting, patient, and Hinata’s face is getting warmer and redder and Kageyama sighs, licks his lips, and Hinata kisses him.

It wasn’t what he’d planned on doing, really, but Hinata has always had a tendency to act impulsively under pressure and most of the time it absolutely does not work in his favour, so the minute his mouth hits Kageyama’s he squeezes his eyes shut as tight as they go and waits. 

Nothing happens. 

Kageyama’s mouth is warm and his lips are wet from where his tongue has been, and kissing definitely feels weirder than he’d ever thought it would, but it’s a nice kind of weird. He can sort of understand why people in the movies want to do it so badly, and he thinks he could maybe do it again, probably, with Kageyama, because his breath tastes minty and fresh and his lips are soft and yeah. Definitely nice. 

And then he realises exactly what it is he’s doing, and he pulls back with a squeak and a stammered apology, cheeks aflame and eyes trained on the grass beside them.  

It’s Kageyama’s fingers at the nape of his neck that shut him up. They slide up into his hair, a little hesitant, softer than usual, and he’s too busy frowning to realise that he’s being pulled forward and he only notices what’s happening when there are warm lips against his again and this time, his eyelids flutter and slide closed.

The second time is even nicer than the first. Kageyama’s mouth is softer, more pliant beneath his and Hinata sighs out against him, the quietest moan creeping out with his breath. Kageyama’s fingers tighten, just a little, in his hair and Hinata presses himself closer. Kageyama is warm and hard against him and Hinata smooths his hands over his shoulders, against his neck, down his arms and then there’s something hot and wet sliding across his lips and this time he really does groan. 

He’s seen people do it before, in movies and on tv and even kids at school, though he tries not to look too hard, so when Kageyama’s tongue smooths over the seam of his mouth Hinata knows to open his lips. 

It’s odd, at first, having someone else’s tongue slide over the roof of his mouth and trace the back of his teeth but when Kageyama breaths out a tiny, choked kind of moan Hinata decides this really is the absolute greatest thing he’s ever done, ever. Maybe even better than  _volleyball._

Hinata only pulls back because breathing gets kind of hard and his cheeks heat at the way Kageyama follows him a little before stilling and blinking his eyes open. 

“Explain,” Kageyama says and his voice is hoarse, even lower than usual. He knocks his forehead against Hinata’s and their noses bump, and he’s so, so close and Hinata thinks he could kiss him again. He could maybe kiss him forever. 

“I will.” Hinata’s voice comes out all breathy and light and Kageyama slides their noses together and licks his lips and they really don’t get much talking done at all. 

It’s almost a month later, when they’re curled up in Kageyama’s bed, sweaty and panting and they’re both shaking, just a little, because this is the first time they’ve done anything more than kissing, when Hinata finally tells Kageyama exactly what his touching-problem had been. It shouldn't be as embarrassing as it is, given what they've just done and what they plan on doing in the future, but he still blushes and stumbles his way through the story and by the time he’s done Kageyama is peppering kisses along his collar bone and up his neck and he makes sure to tug his head back just right, fingers winding and curling deep in Hinata’s hair. 

* * *

There are a lot of things that make Hinata blush; compliments, and being the butt of friendly jokes, and when his sister calls him  _Sho_  in public and when people buy him things and sometimes, when he gets to stroke a really  _really_  cute puppy and the list, well, it really does go on forever. Hinata thinks that there are probably too many things to count. 

And being touched by Kageyama is definitely, absolutely, one-hundred per cent one of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> It wasn't supposed to end in kissing but whatever. Hope you guys enjoyed! You can follow me on tumblr @ someone-stole-my-shoes if you ever wanna talk more kagehina or talk headcanons or fic ideas or that kinda thing.


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